Nothing comes.
Just emptiness.
My body gave everything.
My season gave everything.
And the world still said no.
The bus ride home is darker than the ride there.
Nobody watches film.
Nobody talks.
A few girls cry quietly.
Most just stare.
I keep looking at my phone and not opening it.
Because I know there will be messages.
From friends.
From campus.
From my mother.
Maybe from Emmanuel.
From people trying to make this feel meaningful in hindsight because they weren’t the ones still inside it.
I can’t do hindsight yet.
By the time we pull back onto campus, it’s late enough that the world has gone soft and dim around the edges.
The athletic complex looks almost kind in the dark.
We unload in silence.
Coach says she’s proud of us.
She means it.
I hate it anyway.
Pride is a miserable consolation prize in the first ten minutes after losing.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head toward the side exit because I cannot do one more teammate conversation without either crying or becoming a terrible person.
The door opens.
Cold air.
Dark lot.
And there he is.
